


For you are with me

by Killermanatee, Wians



Series: The road ahead [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, F/M, Graphic Description, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-14 04:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20594360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killermanatee/pseuds/Killermanatee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wians/pseuds/Wians
Summary: Chris wakes up at hospital and tries to cope with the new situation





	For you are with me

The last thing Chris remembered clearly was being thrown to the floor on the wrong side of the safety door, just like his vision had shown him. He recalled looking up at the horrified but safe cadets on the other side of the glass, relieved they were out of danger. Then there was nothing but the blaze surging through him, like every fibre of his body was alight.

Afterwards came darkness.

He’d been dimly aware of voices. He recognised Phil, Una, Spock, and most often Sylvia. But it had been hard to tell anything else; mostly it was just their presence wafting through his blurry consciousness.

Somewhere in the very back of his mind he was aware that he couldn’t move, that there was something fundamentally wrong with his body, with him, but it seemed impossible to hold on to any of these thoughts.

Now it felt different. His head was still full of wool, but it was like he could slowly start to see a way through. His senses seemed to be coming back; he had the vague idea that he’d be able to see properly if he opened his eyes, instead of the blurry images that never sharpened.

There was something soft under his head. Maybe a bed?

Vaguely he remembered Phil’s voice, talking about surgery. Had he had surgery? He wasn’t even sure.

Breathing was difficult, his nose feeling stuffy and his throat sore.

The foggy feeling in his mind cleared a bit, and he tried opening his heavy eyes. When he finally succeeded, the first light was a painful bright flash, but he blinked, then tried again, and saw an unrecognizable shape, colourful but blurry next to him.

At the simple motion of opening his eyes, he was overwhelmed by sudden dizziness, feeling like the planet was spinning away under him. The dull ache in his body was slowly building to a sharper sensation as the fog of sleep cleared, making him groan softly.

His eyes slowly focused, the blur sharpening to take the form of Sylvia, sitting by his bedside. Syl. Chris smiled. Or he tried to; the muscles in his face were being very uncooperative, protesting and hurting over the slight motion, but he wanted to smile at her.

Of everything he could wake up to, the sight of her by his side—red hair lit by a few rays of sunshine and, despite the worried frown between her brows, with a slight smile when she saw his eyes focuswas what he had hoped for the most. He hadn’t known if he’d ever be able to see her again once he was on the wrong side of that safety door. And there she was with him as he woke up.

\--

_Early morning sunlight filters through the bedroom window, softly outlining her sleeping form. The light catches in her hair, blanket curled around her midriff, his white cotton t-shirt softly framing her body beneath. Her face is utterly relaxed and peaceful, her mouth slightly open, gentle snores emerging._

_It’s before alpha shift, he has time to just lie here, close to her, feeling the peaceful warmth spread from her to him._

_It’s the first time they have spent the night together, the first time he’s woken up next to her._  
_ Warm, tender affection floods him as he looks at her._

_He has a feeling he can get used to this._

\--

Her cheeks were hollower than he remembered. Her skin had a grey hue and the dark shadows under her eyes made her look worn out. It all seemed so wrong on her features, so at odds with how he thought of her, eyes bright and cheeks rosy with whatever she was excitedly talking about. He was struck by the thought that he had no sense of how long he had been out, how long she had been at his side like this.

“Hi,” Sylvia smiled, and he felt her hand on his. Felt it, warm skin, a gentle caress. He could actually feel it. For a moment, he revelled in the sensation. But it confused him, too; felt too good to be true. He really hoped he wasn’t dreaming. It was such a gentle caress, as if she was worried it would hurt, and he wished he could hug her or speak, do anything to lessen her worry.

His focus was drawn from her as the world kept spinning under him, his stomach protesting wildly, and bile collected on his tongue. He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowed hard, hoping he didn’t need to vomit as the nausea continued to rise. The grinding ache in his body was only adding to it.

He lost the battle. His eyes blew open as he felt liquid in his esophagus, but he couldn’t move.The fear of choking on his own retch stabbed through him for a moment, but then he felt the head end of of his bed slightly rise up, and a tray appeared for a few drops to land in. There was a burning sensation in his throat now, and his mouth tasted like death. He dimly noticed a hypo being pressed to his neck and then the worst of the nausea was gone.

He groaned slightly, somewhat caught between being grateful for being here and aware, and feeling miserable and slightly ashamed that Sylvia had to see him like this now that he was awake again.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Phil’s voice sounded on his other side, distracting him. Slowly, Chris opened his eyes to look at his friend, already a bit calmer because he was there.

Phil appeared older than he remembered, his face more wrinkled than the last time. His hair seemed to have thinned even more, and he looked tired and a bit worried. He set the tray to the side, and came to stand beside Chris’ bed, patting his shoulder lightly.

“Good to see you awake again.”

Chris wanted to reply, but wasn’t sure that he could. His jaw felt stiff, his tongue too big to move. He wondered how long it had been since his accident, what had happened since, what was going to happen.

Maybe Phil could read it all on his face. He felt him squeeze his shoulder slightly. “I bet you’re dizzy and confused, but it’s okay. You’re in the Fleet hospital at HQ.” Phil continued gently, “It’s May twenty-ninth, just over three months since the accident, so I don’t blame you for being groggy.”

May? Three months? He’d been in that thing for three months? In a way it felt like ages, and at the same time, it could have been an hour. His mind reeled with this new information.

May… it meant Sylvia had been alone on their anniversary, that she’d spend three months in perpetual worry for him. His chest ached at the thought of her being lonely and scared. Frustratingly slowly, he turned his head to meet her eyes again, hoping she understood that he was sorry he hadn’t been there. She squeezed his hand.

After a moment, Phil continued and Chris looked up at his face through a new wave of dizziness.

“There are a few things I’m going to tell you. I know it will probably be a bit much, so I’ll take it slow. First of all, you were in a decontamination chamber up until two weeks ago, but you won’t have to go back in there, I promise.”

A hint of emotion slipped past Phil’s professionalism when he spoke.

The meaning of his best friend’s words slowly sank in. He was not going back. He was not going to spend his life in that thing. The magnitude of that news was almost too much for his still-swimming head. He closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief past his raw throat, sure that later, he would feel other things; but at the moment, this was what he could deal with.

Phil cleared his throat. “You’ve had a couple surgeries which have largely been successful. For now we’ll keep you on artificial nutrition. In a little while you can try to drink some water, but it’ll take a few weeks until you’ll be able to eat.”

Phil paused to let that sink in too. It was certainly a lot to take in, but Chris found that the carefulness his friend showed wasn’t doing much to calm his nerves. He wanted to know what his situation was.

“You’ll most likely show symptoms of dysarthria, which is a speech disorder caused by the neurological damage you’ve sustained. It will impact your ability to control the muscles you need to form sounds, but we can’t tell you yet to what extent. You need to retrain those muscles, which is what we’ll focus on during the next couple weeks. I’d like you to try and move your mouth and your tongue, and produce sound. The sooner the better.”

The request seemed like a tall order, Chris wondered how it would sound, if he was even capable. What if they were wrong? It had been so long. But he wanted to trust Phil’s judgement, as difficult as it was.

\---

_“Tell me about your day,” she mumbles into his chest, as she sits curled up against his side on the couch in his quarters._

_He leans his cheek against her head, happily buries his nose in the pillow of her curls._

_“You were right there, not sure what I can add to it.”_

_Her fingers entangle with his. “I just like listening to you. Your voice always calms me down.”_

_That makes him grin and he can’t help but tease, “Is this your polite way of telling me I’m so boring I make you fall asleep?”_

_His comment earns him a slap to his shoulder. “Smartass. You know that’s not what I mean.” She snuggles in more tightly, pulling his arm closer around her._

_With a smile on his lips he relaxes more deeply into the cushions before he begins to speak._

_\---_

He opened his mouth. It felt as dry as the Mojave desert, and he tried to wet it with saliva, running his tongue up and down just to feel it, to test where it would sit as he spoke. He cleared his throat, and knew he was stalling. He breathed in and out slowly, once, twice, tried to relax.

Nothing but a horrible, raspy sound came out at his first attempt, making him wince. He looked to Phil, who looked unperturbed, so he tried again, clearing his throat.

“‘ello.”

It hurt, and the word came out so blurry and hoarse it was as if he’d been screaming for hours. He frowned.

“Don’t worry, it will improve with training.” As always, Phil’s voice was calm, and his presence steady, just like the countless of times he’d been at his side when he’d had surgery on the Enterprise.

A wave of relief flooded through Chris, almost making him tear up, pushing aside the worst of the frustration, and he relaxed still-tense muscles. He would relearn how to speak; he was determined to.

His eyes found Sylvia’s and her hand squeezed his harder. He cleared his throat and tried again. The “hello” was still slurred, the pitch a bit deeper than normal.

“Hello yourself,” she said, her lips quivering a little even as she smiled.

“Good start,” Phil said, and Chris knew it was never empty encouragement from him.

“A speech therapist will give you exercises you need to do.” Phil looked at the monitors above Chris’ head and nodded, satisfied. “I’m going to leave you two alone for a bit, and check on you later. Our head physiotherapist, Lieutenant Lane, will drop by tomorrow, so you can start rehab.”

That surprised him, and he frowned up at Phil.

“I know it seems soon, but it’s not, trust me,” Phil said, looking from Chris to Sylvia and back again. “The sooner the better.” He squeezed Chris’ shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

Chris relaxed a bit, trusting his friend’s judgement.

Sylvia thanked Phil before he left. They stayed quiet for a moment, and he looked down to where their hands were touching, her pale, freckled skin in stark contrast to the dark discoloration of his.

Raising his eyes, he found her studying him. With a heavy sense of dread he wondered what he looked like, how much of what he’d seen in the vision still held true. The anxiety of finding out, of remembering what had haunted him for so many years, made him dizzy.

\--

_“You’re so damn pretty.” Her words come out thick and her head is tilted up toward him, a lopsided grin on her face. It seems those cocktails were a bit on the strong side._

_He chuckles and wraps his arm around her more tightly, making sure she doesn’t stumble on the slightly uneven path back to their apartment. Her hand comes up, and for a second he’s worried she’ll poke him in the eye, but then she cups his cheek, making them both stop as she walks to stand in front of him. A bit wobbly, she leans into him, meaning it’s a very awkward angle for him to look down at her._

_“I’m serious,” she states, and he has to bite his lip to not laugh at her struggle to give her face a stern expression. “You’re really fucking gorgeous.” At that her whole face lights up in a dopey smile that makes his heart ache with happiness._

_She bops him in the nose. “And you’re all mine.”_

_Her silly, drunken joy is near overwhelming and he hugs her tightly, relishing how her arms snake around him._

_“I sure am, love,” he tells her, “I sure am.”_

\--

“Do you remember anything from the past months?” Sylvia interrupted his spiraling thoughts.

It took a moment for him to get his mouth to cooperate.

“Bi’s,” he slurred, “blurs, an’ v… an’ voi’es. Foggy.” It was annoying how hard it was to articulate his thoughts, how thick and unruly his tongue felt. He cleared his throat and wetted his mouth. It tasted of retch.

“You were kept heavily sedated,” she said, “until they could figure out how much they could do. I also don’t think you would have wanted to be awake through all of this.”

She paused, and he wondered what she was leaving out.

“I’ve been on leave the past few months, so I could be here.”

Chris really wanted to squeeze her hand, but his fingers were barely reacting. He only managed a slight twist of his left index.

“Hea’d you,” he mumbled, remembering her voice drifting through the fog, picturing her sitting right where she was now, alone and speaking to him without any response. The thought of her loneliness twisted his guts.

He started a sentence but had to start over, his tongue and lips refusing to function properly. Finally he managed to say, “Mus‘ been ha’d.”

She smiled slightly, even if her eyes seemed a little red-rimmed. “It was.”

Chris looked at her face, soaking in every detail, from the small flecks of gold in her eyes to the line of her cupid’s bow and the cleft of her chin. The image of her sitting alone by his side was still in his mind.

“D - ‘ell me?”

She looked down for a moment and then back up at him. “It got better after the first month, when I could see that there was some progress. They still never really knew what they’d be able to do for you, so there was a lot of waiting.” She paused again, sighed, and then continued. “I think I may have really annoyed the doctors with my constant questions.”

It was easy enough to picture Sylvia wanting to know everything, of her tenaciousness in action. He felt his mouth twitch in his weak attempt to smile.

“Phil and Una and everyone else have been amazing.” She squeezed his hand again. “Phil brought lasagne at our anniversary… and the news that you were ready for surgery.”

Their anniversary.

“Shoul’ been’n Rome,” he slurred, his chest aching.

She forcefully brushed a stray tear from her eye.

“We’ll go another time,” she said with a determination that surprised him, even if he was used to her stubborn streak. He could do nothing but give a little nod. He dared not voice his doubts about whether he’d ever be able to travel anywhere again.

“Wha’ abou’ my cade’s?” He needed to know if they were okay. The last thing he remembered was their scared faces on the other side of the glass.

Sylvia’s eyes lit up. “They all survived. You got them all out. There were some minor injuries but nothing serious. They’ve asked about you, and there’s a whole heap of thank-you messages from them and their families.”

He sighed in relief. Poor kids. It had to have been a hell of a sight, probably enough to give them nightmares. Hopefully not enough to scare them out of Starfleet.

“They were of course shocked, and they were all offered therapy after the accident, and I think some of them at least took it,” she said.

He nodded, relieved that at least he’d succeeded at protecting the young people he’d been responsible for. Part of him wondered what they were doing now, who was in charge of their training, but then he reminded himself that Starfleet would take care of the cadets. They’d live on and become good Starfleet officers, just as they were supposed to.

They spent the next two hours only interrupted by an Andorian nurse who checked on Chris, making sure everything was still in working order. Otherwise he listened to Sylvia as she told him about what had happened at large while he’d been unconscious; news about the Fleet, the Federation, about people they both knew. She finished by giving him a detailed report on the whereabouts of the Enterprise.

They fell silent for a bit, Chris mulling over everything he’d heard. The cadets safe; the Enterprise out on a new adventure; his own situation, having to relearn basic things like talking, eating, and moving. Things he didn’t figure he’d be able to do ever again after the accident, but which were, now, not so impossible after all.

He thought about the vision, about how his own face had looked, and wondered how much of it held true. He dreaded it, but he had to know how bad it was.

Maybe Sylvia saw it on his face. “Is something wrong? Should I call the nurse?”

He focused on her and shook his head once, not wanting to worry her. There was an icy knot in his stomach.

“I wan’ o’ see,” he swallowed, fighting to get the words out, “me.. how I loo-g.”

She hesitated, and he prompted again, “‘Hawe ‘o see.”

“Okay, Chris,” she said, standing up. “But remember that Phil said it would get better, it’s… there are scars, but you’re still you. I mean, obviously you are still you, I just don’t want you to be shocked...” She took a deep breath. He hadn’t heard her babble in years, and she probably guessed that it deepened his worry. “Sorry… I’ll… I’ll get a mirror.”

She turned up the light in the room and raised the head of his bed to an almost seated position. She held the mirror facing against her own torso, and asked, “Ready?”

He nodded, bracing himself. This was something he had to do; something he needed to confront.

Sylvia slowly turned the mirror around. It took a moment to sink in that what it showed was in fact his own face.

The sight was grotesque. All of his hair was gone, including his lashes and eyebrows. It was not the molten flesh, the sight that had haunted him for so long, but instead his skin was mottled, his features distorted by what he assumed was swelling, the nose deformed and the nostrils almost invisible. Folds hung heavy from where his eyebrows had been. His lips were only a thin outline, almost fused with the surrounding maimed skin. The worst of the scarring was dark red, and curved down from his temple along the right side of his face, all the way down to his chin. He could only imagine how bad the rest of him looked.

As terrible as it was, as much as it disturbed him, there was also a small part that could feel the relief at how much better this was than what he’d always expected. His gaze lingered on all the details of this face that was now his. He didn’t know what to feel, torn between horror, disgust, sadness, and a sense of disconnect.

“Chris?” She spoke very softly.

He watched what was left of his brow furrow slightly in the mirror, his features looking wax-like. He swallowed, feeling his skin prickle when he looked at himself.

He knew it was probably shallow, but he couldn’t help noticing the stark contrast from his face before the accident. Sure, he was on the wrong side of fifty, but he knew he’d still been decent-looking. Now this hairless, scarred thing had become his reality. He could only imagine what Sylvia had to be be thinking. It sent a cold shiver down his spine.

\---

_The kiss is slow, gentle and deep. After months of being apart, they finally have time, a whole week ahead of them. And he’s going to use every damn minute to its fullest._

_Her hand is on his neck, her fingers playing with the short hair, keeping him in place so their tongues can continue their thorough explorations._

_When they part to catch their breath, his lips trail across her cheek, down her neck, taking in the warmth and the faint smell of perfume. She stretches and leans into his caress, and he loves the way she moves under him as he continues, his stubble tickling the tender skin of her breasts. She gasps when he nudges the soft flesh with his nose and he lightly nips at her, instantly soothing the sting with his lips and tongue. Kissing and licking, he is delighted as she squirms beneath him and tugs on his hair, rubbing herself against him, while she directs him to keep moving further._

_“Please,” she says breathlessly, making him grin and rub his stubble against the soft skin of her inner thigh. He makes her keen and moan his name, the way he loves, the way that tells him he’s home._

_\---_

He wondered what his skin felt like now, if it would hurt to be touched. The impulse to find out didn’t translate to muscles the way it would have before; two fingers twitched weakly, but otherwise it felt like the arm was made of lead.

“Do you need me to take it away?” Sylvia asked.

Chris shook his head, gaze still fixed on his own image. His fingers twitched again. It felt surreal, impossible to accept that it was him in the mirror. Some of it could be helped, he reminded himself, staring at the mangled lips and the deformed nose. Some.

She saw his fingers tremble and read his mind correctly. “Do you want to try and touch?”

He looked up at her, breathed out shakily, “‘es.”

His throat felt tight. He searched Sylvia’s eyes for traces of repulsion, a hint that she felt the same way he did about his horrid body, but instead he only found the kindness that was so true to her character.

She squeezed around his hand, comforting, and helped him to touch his cheek. It felt leathery and numb under his fingertips. He bent his finger weakly, the sensation of the scarring beginning to make him sick, and she pulled his hand away, kissing the back of it gently before putting it down.

Sylvia put the mirror aside on one of the tables, and the mattress sagged a bit as she sat down on it.

“I know, love. It- it is a lot to take in, and - you must feel all sorts of things, and that is okay.” She didn’t say any more, and he was so damn grateful that she was there and wasn’t trying to tell him it would all be fine, or it was nothing, but instead let him feel the shock.

At least his face didn’t hurt too much; at least he could communicate; at least Sylvia was there.

“I’m...I don’ know wha’ o’ feel.” He thought of the way his lips were almost gone, the heavy scarring on his cheeks, and swallowed.

She nodded, a small frown on her brow and nothing but concern in her eyes.

“What can I do to help you right now?” she asked.

“Jus’, ‘alk ‘o me.” He couldn’t bear stewing in his own thoughts. “‘Bou’ any’hing.”

And she did, telling him about how Michael had been by her side for the first few days after the accident. She told him about the other visitors who had stopped by, and he was content to listen and only respond with a nod or small sound.

Eventually his head started feeling heavy again and he began to doze off. Sylvia lowered the bed, and as she pulled the blanket back up she assured him it was fine, to get some rest, and that she would still be around when he woke up. He didn’t have to wait long to fall asleep.

When he opened his eyes next, the sky was almost dark outside the window, the lights from the city stronger, and he was alone in the room. Sylvia’s duffle bag was still by the chair she’d used earlier, the lamp on the little table lit, a PADD next to it. The clock on the wall showed 2023.

He felt a lot less groggy, and that was a relief. His sleep had been dreamless, and now that he was alone in the silence of the room he let his thoughts drift. Maybe he could learn to see the positive in his situation, appreciate what he still had left. Eventually he would probably learn to get used to his reflection.

He was thankful for the people who were still at his side, knowing they’d continue to support him. It didn’t change the fact that the hole his mother had left when she’d passed three years earlier felt exceptionally large as he was lying in this clinically anonymous room by himself. But as much as he missed her, part of him was thankful that she had been spared seeing him like this.

Wanting something else to focus on, he took a few breaths, inhaling as deeply as he could. He then tried out how much he could move his jaw, wanting to get rid of the slur in his voice as fast as possible.

And refusing to entertain the thought if possible.

While he was at it, the door opened and Sylvia came in, a box of take-out food in hand.

“Hey, honey.” She set her box down and walked over. “I was just out to get dinner.” She sat down next to him, opening the food container. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

She bit her lower lip, looked at him with an expression he couldn’t really decipher, making him wonder if something was wrong. He felt her entwine their fingers, the gentle warmth of her skin against his. Before he could ask what was on her mind, she looked at him with an expression of tender need.

“I would really like to kiss you.”

\--

_Stomachs full of pizza and tiramisu, they are strolling through the park, enjoying the breeze of fresh air that is still warm despite the late hour. They’ve spent almost three hours trading stories, laughing with each other, and every time he looks at her, his heart flutters._

_They talked about taking things slowly, about testing the waters now that he’s not her commanding officer, but he wasn’t at all prepared for just how fast he’d fall once there was no protocol to hold him back._

_They come up to the door to her apartment building, alone, about to say good-night, and he knows he’s done waiting._

_“I would really like to kiss you,” he says quietly, heart in his throat. All his senses are hyper attuned; he feels her body heat and can smell her perfume. But he waits for her to take the next step, leaving it up to her._

_She smiles back, her cheeks flushed. “I - I think I’d like to kiss you, too,” she replies, a little breathy._

_They meet in the middle, lips soft and tender, timid until her fingers curl into his shirt. He’s never been so happy to surrender._

\---

A pang settled near his heart. For so many years he’d not expected to be able to kiss her again after his accident. When he’d woken up he’d been so happy to realise he wouldn’t be spending the rest of his life in the chair, and even happier to still have Sylvia at his side. But then he’d seen himself in the mirror and it had pushed all thoughts of physical intimacy far away.

She was blushing now, and shook her head as if to clear her mind.

“Sorry, you only just woke up and I should wait because they told me to give you space and I promise I will, because I really, we…”

She stopped when he used all of his strength to keep her from pulling away her hand.

“Don’-” he interrupted, hating that he couldn’t talk well enough to put her at ease. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, his chest aching with warm tenderness.

“Woul’ - wand ‘o kiss you.” he managed, winded.

Slowly the crease between her brows smoothed, and he focused on the tenderness in her eyes, the familiarity of it soothing his nerves. She leaned over him, and the anticipation was making his skin buzz.

Her lips were soft and warm against his. First it was only a gentle brush; then he parted his lips and the kiss became deeper and more insistent. Her hair fell down over his pillow, cheek, and forehead, filling his senses with nothing but Sylvia.

She gently brushed his cheek, cupping it as she deepened the kiss, and he closed his eyes to take in the familiar sensations against the backdrop of everything that had changed.


End file.
